I can see through your little dodge, my Royal friend.
Things was gettin' too warm for your Imperial top-knot.
Them little jewels, which rested upon your brow, didn't set easy, and was makin' Corns on your figger head.
Your subjects was spilin' for a fite--and as sure as your borned, nothin' but a forrin war would keep you from follerin' in the footsteps of LEWIS the 16th, and keep the Boneypart Die-nasty on its pins.
A good chance turnin' up, you got up a nasty war, so the Prints Imperial would die off of the Thrown.
"Eh! how's that for Hi'?"
Yes, LEWIS, you are a bitter pill to swaller, and no mistake.
I, the Lait Gustise says so.
Us folks over here hain't so much on the war as we was. We've had our stomack full of war.
Nootrality is what ales us jist now, altho' I must confess we don't go quite so heavy on it as England did doorin' our family quarrel. England was so afrade she couldn't preserve her nootrality alone, that she fitted up the Alabarmy to help her. And some other folks I know of was so fast to perserve her nootrality, that she came over to Mexico so as to be near bye to do it, but if this court hain't laborin' under a teckinal error a few Pea-crackers traded off their soger overcotes for white pine ones. And the rest of 'em scratched gravel pooty lively for lay bell France.